


Biathlon

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-02
Updated: 2004-08-02
Packaged: 2019-04-29 07:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14467470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: After Shindig, Mal and Ath continue their deadly rivalry over Inara. That's their story, and they're sticking to it.





	Biathlon

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).

Biathlon

## Biathlon

INARA: I like Atherton too, by the way. MAL: Well, sure. What's not to like? I'm liable to sleep with him myself. (Shindig) 

Teaser  
"Cap'n...Whitepants?" Kaylee asked tentatively. Mal's trousers, the few inches or so there were of them, were indeed sparkling white. He complemented them with a short-sleeved white shirt with a tiny image of a reptile hovering over one nipple, and white cloth shoes with rubbery bottoms. He carried a stick about the length of his forearm, that swelled into an oval head netted with basketweaving. 

"Oh, Holy Mother," Inara said. "Mal, tell me that you're not..." 

"Got the in-vite right here," he testified. "The Seventy-Ninth Annual Persephone Pro-Am Tennis Tournament. Benefit the Sick Children's Hospital." 

"I suppose this is Harrow's idea of a joke," Inara said. 

"Well, he's a good client, I like to keep on his good side." They'd made three more runs, moving Sir Warrick Harrow's property for him. 

"And it keeps you in touch with your native element...cow flop. I can't tell you how much the elusive aroma of Eau de Cattel enhances the atmosphere in my shuttle. Anyway, who told you that you can play tennis?" 

"Been practicing in my bunk. Got one of those instructional vizzios." 

"Mal, there are some things you just can't learn out of a book. Or from a viz." 

"Didn't have time to go the Tennis Academy all like you did." 

Mal ruffled his hair, poked around inside his gym bag, and detected the absence of a critical input. He spotted the transparent cylinder, filled with three fuzzy spheres, sitting on top of a crate. "Kaylee, pass those over to me, would you?" 

Wash came down the staircase. "What'd I miss?" 

"The Captain is about to get his balls handed to him," Inara said. [Fade to Black--Theme Song--Commercial Break] 

Act One  
Sir Warwick Harrow mopped his face with the towel around his neck. Clouds of steam billowed around him and Mal. "You know, son," he said. "Judging just by what I've seen on Center Court, not to mention when we first met, you'd better stick to forms of athletic endeavor that you have a lot of experience with. Are there any such?" 

"I was a triple-threat man, in my youth," Mal said. 

"Sprint, hurdles, and javelin?" Harrow asked, feeling minutely less humiliated at being associated with Mal. 

"Jacks, hopscotch, and Red Rover Come Over," Mal said. 

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," said Atherton Wing, shutting the steam room door behind him. He was accompanied by a pleasant-featured, muscular young man of medium height. Mal checked them out absent-mindedly, then grabbed the towel from Harrow's neck and draped it over his own lap. Once he dragged his eyes upward, he thought, Huh. Every time I see him, his eyes get closer together. Wonder if there's some kind of rule against Companioning up with a damn flounder. 

"Yeah, I saw," Mal said. "Hello, there, young'un. Wing, I believe you know Sir Warwick Harrow already." 

"I'm Dene McCullough-Tanaka," the smaller man said. "Atherton's doubles partner." 

"Thanks for clearing that up," Mal said. "Saves me the trouble of speculating." 

"Handbags!" Harrow said. 

"Think I'll have a shower," Mal said, standing up and crumpling up the towel. 

"That's all right," Harrow said. "I don't want it back." 

"So, Atherton, howya?" Harrow said after Mal left. "Good to see Wing Enterprises beat the quarterly whisper number by a point and an eighth." 

"Don't try to butter me up, I still think you're a fat clown with lousy taste in sycophants. Oh, and by the way, thanks a big lot for feeding him that 'colorful native customs' bullshit six months back. He could have killed me. I still have the scars." 

"So what, Wing? If the boy hadn't struck lucky, you would have killed him." 

"Sure, but that's because I own more judges than you own pairs of clean drawers," Atherton said. 

[Cut]  
Are you sure about this, Inara? Book asked. "I got the impression he could be a vengeful man." 

"It's all right, Ig," Inara said. (He had confided to her, in deepest confidence, that his baptismal name was Ignacio.) "He's been a perfect gentleman. I was nervous at first, but we've had three engagements after he came to his senses and put up an Olympic-level display of groveling. All we did each time was yum cha and play mah-jongg, and he paid enough to have his feet washed by tap-dancing transvestite midget quintuplets." When it came to affairs of the wallet, she was a true sentimentalist, usually prepared to forgive and forget. 

Book sighed. If he were one of that young man's trustees, he would have pointed out that if he had that much money to throw away, he should give some of it to the foreign missions. Nor did it escape his attention that, with Atherton Wing on the Companions' Guild blacklist, no other registered Companion would accept an engagement with him--or that Inara didn't have to remit the 40% Compagnonnage tax on a bootleg commission. 

[Cut]  
Atherton Wing lay on the watercouch, occasionally picking idly at one of the jet beads on the brocade throw covering it. Behind him, the drip adrenaline-and-soma maker burbled gently. 

"So there he is," he said. "Lying on the ground. At my feet. Completely helpless, utterly at my mercy. His clothes are torn, and his skin gleams with sweat and blood, and it's darkened with the bruises that I put on him. Where I put my mark all over him. And he's panting, his chest is heaving, he's lost every ounce of his dignity and he's begging me to fuck him. And that arrogant cocksucker gets what's coming to him, I shove it right into him, I'm buried up to the hilt, and I thrust over and over and over again..." 

A wristchron pinged. "Very good, Ath," Dr. Malfoi said. "I think we've achieved a real breakthrough here." 

Wing sat up, sliding his feet into his nearly-extinct-reptile loafers. "Why?" he said. "I dream about killing that huin-dan Reynolds lots of times. If the duel had only gone the way it was supposed to." 

[Cut]  
"Sounds like fun," Wash said when Mal explained the plan. 

"You're in, then?" 

"Sure," Wash said. "Atherton Wing is young, handsome, and brave. Three very good reasons to dislike anybody. Also, rich and obnoxious. That makes four...five." [Fade to Black--Commercial Break] 

Act Two  
"Did you hear?" Kaylee asked, picking up a couple of the free weights to do her crossover flys. It was nice that Book was around, when there was somebody to talk to it wasn't so darn boring to work out. "Sir Harrow is taking Mal to the casino tonight, Mal promised him solemn that they're gonna win a lot of money from that fella Wing." 

"Can he make good on the promise?" Book asked, toweling down the bench where he'd just finished a set. 

"I sure hope so," Kaylee said. "Then they'll maybe stop before someone gets hurt. I mean, they say it's all about 'Nara, but she can take care of herself just fine. I think they forgot her, and now they're so mad that the two of 'em, they'll do absolutely anything to screw each other." 

Book shot her a look. 

"Oh, sorry for the bad language, Shepherd," Kaylee said. 

"That's not what I meant, at all," Book said. 

[Cut]  
"Reynolds." Mal said to the lackey at the door of the Societe des Bains de Mer de Persephone (whose tuxedo fit him a damn sight better than Mal's rental version) "Malcolm Reynolds." 

The lackey deigned to find his name on the clipboard after pretending not to find it twice. 

Mal took his seat at the bridge table, opposite Sir Warwick Harrow, who grudgingly anted up the enormous stake. 

"It'll be a pleasure taking your money," Atherton said. 

"Money ain't what this is about, and you know it, boy," Mal told him. 

Wash strolled past McCullough-Tanaka's seat. A moment later, he leaned against a pillar and started flexing his toes, transmitting signals to Mal's concealed earpiece. Then he crossed the casino floor again, this time glancing at Atherton's hand of cards, and crossed to the buffet table. He thought there were mangoes there. 

[Cut]  
"Oh, Mal, that's just you all over," Inara said. "You cheat at cards, and you still lose." 

"When you're playing bridge, sure, it's good to know what's in the other fellow's hand, but that still won't change the nature of the go-se in your hand. And thank you so much for that incisive color commentary. Now that we're all here, I'm gonna lock up and go to bed and pray tonight was all a hallucination." 

"So you're praying now?" River (who was waiting up) said. "Maybe I should go wake up the Shepherd. He'll be glad to hear it. Anyway, we're not all here. Simon's not back yet." 

Before Mal had a chance to finish wondering what his beautiful young associate was up to, and who with, the communicator pinged. River opened the door for Simon. 

Inara approved of the tailoring of his midnight blue grain de poudre dinner jacket. However, she had never reconciled herself to treating a long, thin black silk scarf wrapped inside the neck of an open shirt, the two long ends dangling, as "black tie." It was much too catwalky. 

Simon peeled about half an inch off the top of the wad of notes that was threatening him with carpal tunnel syndrome and gave the rest to Mal. "Here," he said, and started to turn around and walk off. 

"You wuzza?" Mal asked. 

"In some ways, Persephone is still a frontier world," Simon said, shrugging, and omitting references to cattle. "They only have three decks in the shoe for the blackjack table." 

"Didn't see you there, Doc." 

"Well, ah, I was in an inner room..." 

Act Three  
The day dawned cold and bright over Persephone. The slopes were sculptured with sugary packed powder. 

Back on Serenity, Wash (who'd already run the a.m. status checks on the bridge) looked around the dining area. "Where's Mal?" 

River brushed some powdery packed sugar off her nose and set the doughnut down on her plate. "He's out struggling with that man. The one who's handsome, only he has squinty little eyes. They're sublimating combat in the form of sports." 

"What kind of sports?" 

"It's a double event," River said. "You know, whatchmacallit. The thing with skis and rifle shooting." 

"Oh, yeah," Wash said. Zoe liked to download the professional women's hoopball matches, but he wasn't much for sports himself. "That thing." 

[Cut]  
"Why'd you give him all that money?" Jayne asked an hour later, pouring fish sauce over his morning congee. 

"It got him out of trouble with Harrow," Simon said. "My, it's a small ship, isn't it?" He stirred another spoon of sugar into his black coffee. 

"Yeah, but why'd you give him all that money?" 

"We're...we're all in this little conspiracy together, aren't we?" Simon started to say that Jayne would do exactly the same thing, but realized that even if in fact Jayne would (which Simon wouldn't bet on) he'd never say in advance that he'd do it and very well might deny doing it after the fact, even in the face of conclusive evidence. 

"Why'd you give him all that money?" 

Here at last was a question Simon could answer. "I didn't. I kept back enough to represent a very pleasant return on my initial capital." 

But there was no way to stop the runaway train. "Why'd you give him all that money?" 

"Shut up," Simon explained. 

"Thought so," Jayne said, and strolled away, slurping. 

[Cut]  
Something finally went smooth, only it was one of Mal's cross-country skis over a patch of ice. His rifle went flying as he sprawled. And pretty close to the second target, too. 

"Reynolds?" said a parka-clad, decidedly unpleasant large type--sort of like Jayne, only without the training--who stepped out from behind a tree and planted one snowshod foot on Mal's chest. "I am come calling from Mr. Niska. Mr. Adelai Niska. You are bad employee, he says. He wants I should put motivational letter in your permanent file. But I talk not so good, maybe he say to put permanent letter in your motivational file." 

Okay, Mal thought. This ain't the first time I been flat on my ass freezin' when somebody tried to kill me. I ain't usually in a rifle-shooting competition at the time though. 

He reached over toward his rifle, but the foot shifted from his throat to crunch down on his hand. Mal tried to push his hand up to repel his attacker, without success. He tried to roll over far enough to use his other hand. [Fade to Black--Commercial Break] 

Act Four  
He never knew if that would have worked, because there was a crack, the parka developed a big red bull's eye, and the personnel manager fell forward, trapping Mal once again. 

By the time he struggled out from underneath the corpse, Atherton had skied up, his rifle at port arms. 

"Well, it looks like I win again," Atherton preened. "Not just at games, but at life. And this time, it looks like I pulled your chestnuts out of the fire, too." 

"I'da been fine on my own," Mal said. "Who asked you, sonny?" 

"You have to admit, it was a damn fine shot." 

"Not such good shooting," Mal said. "You were aiming for the target." Why, he's six clear inches away from even the white ring, he thought, examining the tree where the still-intact paper target was nailed. 

"You know what the worst of it is, apart from your being ignorant, uncouth, and ungrateful? You save a man's life, you're responsible for him." Atherton said. 

"Guess I was already responsible for you, saving your life that time and all." 

"Saving my life! The only way you ever got within a football pitch of endangering my life was that Inara cheated." 

"Huh!" Mal said. "Hiding behind a girl!" 

"Look who's talking!" 

[Cut]  
"Inara," Mal called up to the catwalk, where Inara was scrolling through "Planet and Moon" magazine on her flatscreen, wondering if her photo appeared in the coverage of any of the parties she had attended. "You started this, and now it's up to you to end it." 

"That's a pretty radical interpretation of the text," Inara said. But she saw the pleading look in Mal's eyes. 

"What do you want me to do, and is it illegal in more than nine planetary systems?" 

"As ever, my dear, we rely on your judgment...and your discretion," Atherton said. 

When she found out what they wanted, it seemed simple enough. She stood in the cargo bay, facing them. She crossed her arms. 

"Arhat says, pluck phoenix feather left," Inara chanted. Both men moved in accordance with her command. 

"Phoenix feather descends," Inara said. Neither of the men did anything. 

"Arhat says, phoenix feather descends." Mal and Ath complied. 

"Arhat says, seek the moonlight."  
"Arhat says, take one step back and then Arhat says, jade goldfish." 

"Double fire horse left." Mal and Atherton smirked--they weren't falling for that one. 

"Arhat says, if my right hand is raised, do the opposite of what I say," Inara said. 

She raised her left hand. 

"Arhat says, toe sweep forward and right." Mal, who hadn't really been listening, did the forward-right toe sweep. Atherton, biting his lip with concentration, swept back and left. 

"Sorry, Atherton," she said. 

"But...but...I did the opposite...." 

Inara gracefully moved her left hand further up. Mal broke into guffaws. 

Inara gazed downward and permitted herself a smile. "Have fun, boys," she called, from the catwalk. 

"Fun!" Atherton gritted. 

"Fun," Malcolm said silkily, close enough for his breath to heat Atherton's ear. 

Something sharp nearly punched through the sole of Mal's boot. Damn, Mal thought. Why can't those girls clean up their whimwhams 'stead of leaving them around to make us look untidy? 

Atherton threw himself down on the floor, holding up the small red rubber ball like a life preserver. "Double or nothing!" he shouted. 

"What do you mean, double or nothing? I won." 

"I mean, when I win this time--again--then I get to go home. And we're even." 

"And if I win?" 

"Then you'd get to fuck me twice. And who knows, maybe the second time you could even make me notice that it was happening." 

"Oh, you'll know, all right. Probably have to take to Shepherding right after because you'll never get anything that good again. But all right, I'll play you," Mal said, bouncing the small rubber sphere and executing a flawless Onesies. "I'm on a roll here." 

At Fivesies, Atherton faced an impossible spread, and it was all over but the moaning. 

Mal grabbed the lapels of Atherton's beautifully tailored jacket, and rolled down until his arms were pinned. Then Mal took his time ripping all the buttons off the expensive silk shirt underneath, and forcing Atherton down until he was on his back on the floor of the Cargo Bay. Mal knelt over his prostrate foe, his hands digging into Atherton's shoulders, and then he clasped his hands behind Atherton's head, slid down the firm, heated body beneath him, and took the lips invitingly offered up to him. 

When, for a moment, his mouth was freed, Atherton yelped. 

"Whimpering already," Mal said exultantly. "Won't be long now before I make you scream, boy." 

"It's nothing to do with you," Atherton said peevishly. "One of those rutting jacks is digging into my back." 

"Oh, sorry," Mal said, fishing it out from under Ath's shoulder and then pinning him down again. 

A few kisses later, Mal thought it would be fun to stand up and Loom. He was glad to feel his legs supporting him, it'd been a damn close-run thing. 

"Now, get up on your knees, and suck me wet all over," Mal said. 

"That's not what I want, and you can't force me," Atherton said, closing his eyes to not-watch the progress of the unbuttoning of Mal's fly. 

"You're a damn liar," Mal said, just nudging at the heated bulge at Atherton's crotch with the toe of his boot, and desperately hoping he wouldn't overbalance and fall on his face. 

Atherton wanted to demur, but really, what was the point? He had only two choices. Yes, could clamp his mouth around the thick, proud cock that stood rigid before him, exuding a tantalizing odor of pure Maleness (as opposed to the floor, exuding a sickening odor of pure Cowness). He could plunge his head to taste all of it over and over again until he swallowed down all the bitterness exalted by desire...or until his conqueror, further steeled, chose instead to ride him into subjugation. 

Then again, he could keep arguing, and Mal would demand another competition, and then they'd probably end up playing Old Maid the whole fucking night. 

Epilogue  
"It's about time they realized what they wanted and cut out the middleman," Zoe said. She was just glad it was over. She knew that there was only one way for the combat to be resolved. And if the resolution had taken any longer, then the siege would have been fought to the bitter end with itching powder and plastic vomit. Her husband would have been dragged in once again, this time as the armorer. "Tough luck for Inara's bank account, but still and all..." 

Simon raised his coffee mug to her. "Hear, hear! Let's salute the entire concept of realizing what you want." 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Biathlon**   
Author:   **Executrix**   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **NC-17**  |  ***slash***  |  **18k**  |  **08/02/04**   
Characters:  Malcolm, Simon, Other \- Atherton Wing   
Pairings:  Mal/Atherton Wing; implied Mal-Simon   
Summary:  After Shindig, Mal and Ath continue their deadly rivalry over Inara. That's their story, and they're sticking to it.   
  



End file.
